"How's the progress on the God Machine retrofits?"
"Reporting, Your Excellency: prototype units have been produced and are currently undergoing field testing. Once testing is complete, they will be rapidly deployed to all God Machine users," the base commander respectfully reported to Muria.
Although the commander didn't fully understand the being standing before him, what little he knew was enough to make him deeply reverent. This figure truly possessed the power to save their world.
Determined to show his respect, the commander had even taken the bold step of consulting one of Muria's so-called dragons on the proper way to address him.
"Good. The sooner, the better. Don't take too long," Muria replied casually. His focus was already elsewhere—on planting trees, a project directly tied to his ultimate goals.
"Understood!"
"Now, it's time for you to tackle your second task," Muria said.
"Please, give your instructions," the commander responded immediately.
"From this moment on, begin unrestricted acceptance of all scavengers living outside the base." Muria's tone was calm, but the command landed like a thunderbolt.
"This..." The commander's face froze, a look of disbelief crossing his features before he hesitantly raised his head. His expression revealed his discomfort as he stammered out his response:
"Your Excellency, the Glory Base City was originally designed to accommodate a population of only eighty thousand. Our current population has already grown to nearly one hundred and twenty thousand, surpassing the designed capacity by more than fifty percent."
As a subordinate, the commander was obligated to follow the orders of a higher power to the best of his ability. Any challenges should ideally be resolved independently. But this particular command was beyond what he could handle.
If he forced this initiative through simply to appease the being in front of him, it would inevitably lead to chaos and failure. Worse, he might incur the wrath of this godlike entity. Instead of risking everything, it seemed wiser to voice his concerns now. Pretending to be capable of fulfilling an impossible task would be an act of pure folly.
"Hmm, I see. The current base can't accommodate such a surge in population. In that case, you can expand the base," Muria said matter-of-factly, brushing aside the commander's concerns.
Expansion was a natural solution. Every base was constantly thinking about growth, after all. However, expanding a base was no trivial matter. A larger base meant more people but also attracted stronger and more numerous beasts. Without the ability to defend itself, expansion would be suicidal.
Yet the situation now was different. With a godlike being overseeing everything, the Glory Base could handle the increased pressure from outside.
But there was another critical issue: the directive to accept scavengers without restriction. Any base leader issuing such an order would be rebuked—or outright replaced.
"Your Excellency, while we lack precise data, based on current estimates, unrestricted acceptance could triple our current population in a short amount of time. While housing can be addressed through expansion, food is a serious issue.
"Right now, we are already on a strict rationing system. If the population triples, everyone will face hunger. Within three months, famine would be inevitable," the commander explained, his tone filled with unease.
"Hmm, anything else you find unmanageable?" Muria asked.
"There's also the issue of governance. The scavengers outside the base are not like those living within it," the commander hesitated, carefully choosing his words. Finally, he mustered the courage to speak:
"Strictly speaking, these scavengers are little more than beasts in human skin. They lack any sense of morality or decency. Taking in a small number is manageable, but unrestricted acceptance will undoubtedly cause major problems."
"I understand. So, you lack the capacity to manage and accommodate a large influx of scavengers," Muria said with a nod, showing he understood the challenges. "In that case, just focus on taking them in and providing housing. Leave the rest to me."
"Understood," the commander replied, visibly relieved. With Muria taking on the truly difficult aspects, their task suddenly seemed far more manageable.
"Now... how should I solve the food problem?" Muria pondered aloud after the commander left. While maintaining order was a trivial matter in his eyes, feeding a drastically increased population was a far trickier issue.
Indeed, the seemingly mundane issue of food supply was proving to be a significant challenge for Muria. As a Titan, his powers were inherently destructive, and his ascension to Epic status had only amplified this tendency.
Muria was, in fact, an outlier among Titans. He had also absorbed the remnants of a Demon Lord's Epic-level power. The so-called "Seven Calamities Demon God" was a being whose very name—combined with its history of opposing a Seraphim—made its destructive tendencies clear. Its powers, too, leaned heavily toward annihilation rather than creation.
In this world, already devastated by an apocalyptic-scale extinction event, large-scale agriculture was essentially impossible. Base cities relied on artificial environments to cultivate crops, a method with limited yield. Most people still subsisted on synthetic food.
Even if the base could somehow circumvent external factors and establish massive artificial farms to grow crops and ingredients for synthetic food, this would take time.
And in the meantime, it would fall to Muria to provide food. But he found himself at a loss for a viable solution.
Muria's demi-plane, while vast—spanning over three million square kilometers and rivaling the divine realms of lesser deities—was ill-suited for this task. It was primarily populated with elite troops in suspended animation, along with a few supernatural flora and reserves of elemental crystals, none of which were helpful for feeding ordinary humans.
In a world like Erathia, even a minor deity with dominion over harvests, agriculture, or fertility could easily solve the problem. But Muria was no such deity.
That said, this didn't mean other Epics couldn't do it. It only meant Muria, still a relatively young Epic, had yet to master the necessary techniques.
In truth, anything a god could achieve, an Epic could replicate—given enough time, resources, and effort. The reverse, however, was not true. A god's abilities were inherently limited by their domains.
Epics, by contrast, were infinitely more versatile. But this versatility came at a cost. While gods couldn't transcend their domains, Epics needed to dedicate significant resources to expand their capabilities.
"Earth, the cradle of all life, and water, the lifeblood of creation—I can manipulate both," Muria mused, raising his hand.
A small orb of earthy yellow appeared in his palm, swirling alongside a pristine, azure sphere of water. The two elements twined and coiled together in a delicate dance.
These elements were among the new powers Muria had acquired after absorbing the Seven Calamities Demon God. For the demon, earth and water represented destruction—earthquakes, landslides, tsunamis. But for Muria, they held the potential for creation.
"Power is neither inherently good nor evil. Its purpose lies solely in how it is wielded," Muria murmured. To destroy or to nurture—it all depended on the will of the one holding the power.
Focusing, Muria brought the two orbs together. A comforting, life-affirming energy radiated from them, brimming with potential. But just as it seemed ready to bloom into something extraordinary, the energy collapsed, crumbling like a building without a foundation.
"Creating something from nothing... I still have a long way to go," Muria muttered as he stared at the now-mundane orb of mud in his hand. Failure didn't bother him—this was just a casual experiment, after all.
"Accelerating the growth of plants seems like the next logical step," Muria decided after a moment.
…
On a barren patch of land, seeds were scattered by a small hand. A fine mist of water materialized out of thin air, drenching the soil. Above, a small fiery orb appeared, gradually deepening in color until its golden light mirrored that of the sun.
With astonishing speed, tiny green shoots emerged from the ground, growing rapidly. Their vibrant leaves and stems brought life to the once lifeless land.
But just as the crops were about to ripen, everything halted. The lush growth turned to ash in an instant, obliterated by an unseen force.
"Attempt number seventy-six—failed. Insufficient nutrients. The crops are stunted and produce no meaningful yield," a boy's voice muttered as he appeared on the field, gazing down at the ruined plants.
"Not bad, though. A few more tries, and I'll have it down. Who knows—maybe I'll moonlight as a god of harvest in some other world."
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